


Implausible Deniability

by Cliophilyra



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Blow Jobs, Deadpool - Freeform, Dream Sex, Fantasy, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Suicide, because why not?, but only temporary because deadpool, robot ninjas, spiderman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliophilyra/pseuds/Cliophilyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected dream leads to a revelation for Peter</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My second attempt at Spideypool. Not sure if this is a one shot or whether it will become something more. I guess I will see what people think? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

He can see the smirk even through the red fabric that covers his face. To be honest he's pretty sure he can almost hear it. The merc is almost nose to nose with him, crowding him up against the filthy alley wall. Peter's heart is pounding in his chest but he tries not to show it, tries to seem unaffected by the sight of those huge arms either side of his head and the broad, Kevlar-covered torso almost pressed against him. All this and the twist of a smile behind the mask is making it hard to breathe.

Peter sighs in a way that he really hopes sounds exasperated rather than breathless.

"What the hell Wade? Let me go! He's going to get away!"

Without turning his head or shifting his gaze Deadpool points his gun down into the dark of the alley in the direction of the fleeing robber Peter had been chasing. He fires twice and there's a shriek and a thud in the distance.

"Nope." Wade says with a grin, putting the gun away.

Peter is just about to punch him when the sound of muffled cursing and yelling tells him that the perp is still alive - if maybe not kicking. Which makes him feel fractionally less guilty about the part of him that found that little demonstration of Wades abilities ridiculously hot. 

He frowns under his mask; what is wrong with him? He does not find it hot when he watches Deadpool fight - not at all. Because that would be messed up. His heart is only racing because of surprise gunfire.

"Sorry baby boy, where were we?" Wade says, his mouth against Peter's ear, suddenly so close that he can feel his breath, hot against his skin even through their suits. He swallows hard.

"You were being a pain in my ass." He manages, instantly regretting his choice of words when he feels a huff of amusement against his neck, which absolutely doesn't send a shiver down his spine.

"Aw no I'm not, just tryin'a help you out...I could be though, if you like?"

Peter does his best to bite back on the groan that he can feel in his throat. What is wrong with him? That was a terrible and obvious comment deserving no more than an eye-roll and a smack upside the head but now, with Wades solid, warm thigh pushing against what he's sure is a pretty obvious hard on, the possibilities behind those words shoot through him like electricity.

He closes his eyes and wills himself to get a grip but his hands are clearly not listening because suddenly they're running up Wade's torso, sliding up to his neck, tracing every hard ridge of muscle and the faint bumps that he presumes are scar tissue. Wade mouthes along the line of his jaw, pulling at the edge of his mask, lifting it as Peter pushes at Wade's own mask, shoving it up to reveal...

 

Fuck! 

Peter sits bolt upright in his bed, he's vertical so fast that silver sparks shoot across his vision and his heart is thumping. Panting for breath he stares wildly around at his bedroom and then down to the very obvious tent in his boxers, his cock is so hard it aches and he groans, pushing the heel of his hand down, willing his erection away but only succeeds in dragging a broken groan from his own throat. 

He crashes back down onto the mattress and lies with his eyes screwed shut. What the holy crap is going on? Have things really gotten so bad that he's having sex dreams about Deadpool?! He knows it's been a while but goddam that's low. It's not like he's even attractive...probably...he's never seen under the mercs mask anyway, not more than the occasional glimpse of the bottom of his face while he stuffs it full of tacos anyway. 

Although...there is something attractive about the shape of his face, the jaw line, his profile...he wants to ask but the moment never seems right and to be honest he's afraid of fracturing this uneasy truce before it's even really started. 

But then there's the rest of him....

It's not like big guys do it for him though. Well not always anyway, but...holy shit he looks good in that suit. Not that he's noticed. Not that he's ever found himself slightly hypnotised watching him fight, watching the way he wields those katanas like some kind of psychotic ninja ballerina. That's not hot. 

This is just his frustration and curiosity getting the better of him after a few months of kind of working together - and a long dry spell.

It's nothing to do with the fact that he seems to kill without thinking but still appears to be oddly heroic. Moral ambiguity is not supposed to be a turn on.

It seems that his dick however, doesn't care about his finer feelings or rationalisations. In some dark part of his brain he just Wants.

His hand is on his cock before he's really consulted his brain and he gasps as he wraps his fingers around his hot, hard length and begins to stroke himself, slowly at first, trying not to concentrate on the images his mind is helpfully trying to provide him with, as if by doing so he will have plausible deniability. It only takes a few moments for that plan to fall away as the space behind his eyes fills up with red and black, spandex and Kevlar, hard muscles and soft skin, teeth and breath and wet and heat and breathless, fractured moaning that might actually be coming from him. 

He imagines the feel of uneven scarred skin, rough lips, textured fingers against his smooth skin. His fingers against a solid chest, broad shoulders, lips against his throat, raking teeth, sucking bruises that vanish instantly, running his tongue down Wade's abs, the ones he feels his mouth watering over everyday these days if he's honest. He imagines pressing his lips to the head of Wade's cock, the taste of his skin and precome. He wonders what he would taste like? Gunpowder? Sweat? Hot Sauce? Blood.

In his head Wade is silent except for the odd deep groan and breathy 'fuck!' as Peter trails his tongue over his skin. He wonders if that would really be the case? Could he really render the merc with the mouth speechless? Somehow he doubts it.

His hand speeds up, heat curls in his stomach as he imagines the fist gripping his cock is Wade's. His head drops back and he moans loudly. He can almost feel Wade's lips on his throat, his hand sliding over his length, rough skin catching and dragging. A wave of pleasure washes over him and he comes hard with Wade's name on his lips. 

So much for plausible deniability. Chances are everyone in his building is now aware of exactly what's going on in his head. Shit. He rolls his eyes, draping his clean hand over his eyes with a groan. However, as much as he wants to be mortified, he can't help the grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

Their next patrol is going to be...interesting.


	2. Wade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I finally did a second chapter for this! Hope you like it :)
> 
> [White]  
> {Yellow}

Wade crouches on the metal fire escape outside Peter’s window. The air is still and feels like it's been boiled, his suit is sticking to him. He's trying to use an unpleasantly floppy broken hand to stem the flow of blood from a wound in his neck, which is seriously testing the gore-camouflaging abilities of his suit. His other hand is no help, being currently stashed safely in one of his pouches. It's been an annoying night so far. 

[Come on! We need somewhere to re-attach things before we bleed out and wake up in some rancid alley with a dog pissing on us or some shit.]

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

[Breaking into Parker's house? What'd he do to deserve a 2am visit from you, dripping blood all over his rented carpets like some half-melted Santa?]

"Does Santa drip blood?"

[He does for the purposes of this metaphor]

"That would explain a lot. Anyway, Spidey’ll be cool. He's always cool with shit like this. He knows the score superhero-wise."

[Yeah cos that’s what you are…] 

He ignores the sarcasm dripping from the voice in his head as he tries to shove Peter's slightly open window up with his foot. He’s just got his boot in the gap when he hears something that makes him stop still, listening in the dark.

{What the hell was that? Sounded like...}

"Ssshhh!"

There it is again; under the constant white noise of the city traffic, sirens and shouting carrying through the dead heat. A cry, small and ragged, desperate sounding and it's coming from inside the apartment.

"Shit! Pete's in trouble!"

He's about to kick the window in, blood and injuries be damned, when one of the voices makes an almost embarrassed noise in his head.

[Woah! Maybe...wait a minute?]

"Fuck off, he needs rescuing!"

{I don't think that's what he needs...}

Wade is confused, he hates feeling like the voices understand something he hasn't got a handle on yet. As he leans over to try and shove the window again he hears the voice again and suddenly the tumblers click into place.

"Oh fuck...Wade." These words, followed by a shaky moan, are definitely coming from the apartment, definitely not the sound of someone in distress and also definitely spoken by Peter Parker.

Wade jumps back like he's been stung, hand falling from his neck and leaving a sticky, red handprint on the black metal of the fire escape. He sits, wide eyed and staring at the window.

"What the hell? Is he...?"

[Shooting some webs? Sounds like it don't it?]

"He said..."

{Yeah he did…Weird. Maybe he's been hit in the head?}

"Screw you. Have you seen this ass in spandex? I'm just amazed he's lasted this long."

[Yeah, he probably got hit in the head.]

"Fuck you guys." Wade scowls and sits up on his haunches, scooting over to the window and trying to ignore the boxes chatter as he listens again to the sound of panting breaths. 

The wound in his neck is mostly healed now. Looks like he probably won't be bleeding out tonight. His one attached hand is feeling less floppy, he could open the window if he wanted to, but now he's not sure he does want to. Is Peter Parker seriously thinking about him while he...

Holy shit that's fucking hot. But also fucking terrifying. What the hell is he supposed to do with that? It’s not like he can go in there and ask to join in. Apart from anything else, one look at what’s under this suit and the kid won’t be in the mood - possibly ever again. 

He feels his pants getting tighter as the sound of Peter’s voice gets deeper, rougher and more cracked. Wade groans softly and presses his palm against his crotch, pushing against his growing erection. He should really get the fuck out of here and not be a creepy asshole lurking in the shadows listening to his friend get off.

Wade has only seen under Peter’s mask once, when it got ripped up mid-battle, but that was enough to know he’s a stunner. Once he’d seen his face, secret identities had seemed a bit pointless so Peter had told him his name, making him promise not to tell anyone else, on pain of pain.

He can’t stop the picture of Peter that pops into his mind now. His soft, messy brown hair, big liquid-brown stupid Bambi eyes wide, lips parted, head falling back, hand on his hard cock, stroking himself as he gasps out Wade’s name. 

Wade closes his eyes, breathing hard through his nose, mouth dry. Fuck! He really needs to get out of here. His hand is not listening however and he palms himself through the rough fabric of his pants, moaning as he chases the friction. 

In the end it only takes the ragged sound of Peter’s voice, the catch in his breath - the tell-tale gasp as he says his name one last time - to send Wade over the edge too. He shudders, knees going weak as he comes in his pants, kneeling by the window. 

Almost as soon as he comes he feels slightly sick. What the fuck is he doing? It’s not like someone like Peter; someone good and amazing and beautiful and...good would really be interested in him. What is he anyway? A murderer who jacks-off listening to people outside their windows. 

He gets to his feet, grimacing at the sticky sensation and turns away in disgust. Screwing up his eyes and clenching his fist in a futile attempt to silence the laughter in his head.

Their next patrol is going to be...interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Turns out I have inspiration for this fic and not the dcbb I am supposed to be writing. Yay procrastination! :-) 
> 
> Anyway this fic has ended up a lot more angsty than I intended and I have no idea where I'm going with it but it will have a happy ending. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 3

An hour or so later Spiderman is sitting on the edge of a high rise, legs dangling over the edge as he contemplates the mixture of excitement and dread he feels at the prospect of seeing Deadpool again. He's also starting to realise that he's been feeling like this when he thinks about Wade for a while now - he just didn't realise it until...well. 

He reaches over to the bag of tacos he brought, the paper bag is soaked with grease almost to the point of transparency and they're getting cold. Where the hell is Deadpool anyway? He's half an hour late, which isn't like him. He's usually already here when Peter arrives - swinging his legs over the edge and singing or talking to himself, or to someone anyway. 

He grins to himself as he thinks about the last time he saw the merc, talking a mile a minute while stuffing Mexican food into his scarred mouth. Dropping rice and salsa down his suit - another reason for the red - and holding what appeared to be several conversations at once, some of which Peter was fairly certain didn't involve him at all. Yes. That's the man he has apparently decided to make the star of his torrid sexual fantasies. Nice job Parker.

He looks out at the pink and orange streaks of sunset creeping over the darkening sky and a shiver runs down his spine despite the still humidity. The more he thinks about Wade the more his stomach flutters and he's not sure it's nerves, or attraction or whatever now - something's wrong.

Abandoning the take-out, he jumps to the next building, running along the roofs looking and listening out, for what he's not sure. He stands on the edge of another building and yells, 

"Deadpool!" 

He listens again, feeling slightly ridiculous. Maybe the guy's just busy doing...mercenary stuff. The stuff he prefers not to think about too much. 

Except he hasn't been too busy to patrol with Peter for a long time. Peter can hardly remember what it was like to do this on his own; or rather he can - it was lonely. 

It's only as he webs across to the other side of an alley that a heap of red and black on the ground catches his eye. He drops down to ground level and walks slowly over to where Deadpool is leaning against a dumpster. 

As he gets closer it's obvious from the cloying copper stench of blood and the fact that the contents of his head is mostly decorating the greasy concrete beside him that Wade is dead. There's a gun in one of his gloved hands and a piece of card in the other. 

Peter turns away, retching, pulling his mask up fast to avoid throwing up on it and instantly wishing he hadn't because the smell is a million times worse now. It's like he can taste the blood in the air. He coughs again and covers his face with his hand as he turns back, forcing himself to look at what's left of his friend.

He knows Wade has issues. He knows about the boxes, he knows sometimes they get too much and Wade has implied that sometimes a bullet is the only way he can get them to shut up for a bit. It's not something he's ever wanted to think about too much and he's certainly never seen it. He wonders what did it this time? Was it something he should have noticed?

He bites his lip hard because his eyes are swimming and his throat is tight and he wants more than anything to cry, but for some reason he doesn't think Wade would appreciate that. 

He holds his breath against the stink and leans over the merc to pluck the piece of card from his hand. It's part of a lid torn off a brown cardboard box and on it - written in large childish letters with the sharpie that lies on the floor next to him are the words I ATEN'T DEAD.

The laugh that comes as he recognises the reference shocks even him as it echoes around the alley. Peter claps his hand over his mouth as a wave of guilt washes over him. Wade might not really be dead but he had - apparently - shot himself, which is rarely a good sign. 

He glances around in the fading light and sees nothing but garbage and rats jumping over the trash cans. The idea of Wade coming here to die, even temporarily, tears at his heart. Should he go? Pretend he never saw any of this? That would definitely be the easy option, for both of them, but he knows, even as he thinks it, that it's not going to happen. He can't leave him here alone to wake up surrounded by rats and blood and whatever made him do this in the first place. 

So he sits down in the wind-blown trash at Wade's side, reaches out to take Wade's limp hand in his and waits.

Gradually, with a variety of horrible wet crunching noises, Wade's head returns to its familiar shape. His mask still covers his face but through the torn back he can see shattered bone and scarred skin reform, until, with a sudden huge rattling gasp Wade is alive again.

He scrabbles to sit up, raising his hands to pull up his mask, reflexively Peter grips his hand tighter and Wade's head snaps around. He doesn't speak, just stares at their joined hands. 

"Um...hey?" Peter says dumbly, cursing inwardly at his lack of eloquence. 

"Baby boy?" Wade's voice is quiet. 

"I came to find you...you were late."

Wade looks around at the alley and the blood, down to the gun in his other hand. 

"Sorry." Wade says, sounding bewildered. Peter supposes waking up from death might be a little disorienting. He wants to ask what happened, if he's ok but the questions die on his lips. 

Wade pushes up his mask without taking his hand away from Peter's. He drags in a deep breath and coughs.

"You waited for me."

"Well, I saw your sign. Thanks for the heads up Granny Weatherwax."

Wade laughs then grimaces, spitting blood onto the pavement in front of them. "Knew there was a reason I liked you baby b...Spidey." He corrects himself.

Peter frowns, he might have spent what felt like a significant portion of his life telling Deadpool not to call him Baby Boy, but that never stopped him before. 

Wade is looking at him, expression unreadable behind the mask. His whole body looks tense, as if he's about to run. Peter has no idea what to say - what do you say to the guy you may have a crush on after he's just blown his brains out for reasons unknown. Not something people have to consider often - not many people anyway.

He squeezes his hand and looks back at him. "Good to have you back Wade."

Wade carries on looking at him in silence for what feels like an age then abruptly he breaks into a wide grin and sits up, pulling his hand from Peters grasp. He claps his hands together.

"So...you bring burgers?"

Peter wants to laugh, the feeling is suddenly overwhelming and he's partly horrified at himself and partly relieved not to have to have the conversation he doesn't even know how to begin. Instead he lets himself fall back into his familiar place in this...whatever this is. 

He rolls his eyes, "Tacos. But I left them back on the roof. They were cold anyway."

Wade shakes his head, "Aw Webs! Cold tacos are still good." He gets up and brushes the dust and trash off the back of his suit. He reaches a hand down to Peter and pulls him up. 

"Well if you want burgers let's get burgers." Peter says, "Pretty sure the pigeons will have claimed the tacos by now."

"Hmmm...flying rat bastards." Wade agrees then sighs. "'K then. Burgers it is. C'mon Webs I'm buying - call it the 'thanks for watching my carcass' special."

With that he turns and heads off down the alley, shoving the gun back in his thigh holster as if nothing had happened. If it wasn't for the gaping hole in the back of his mask and the silage of blood that follows him Peter would have believed he'd dreamt the whole thing. As Wade approaches the end of the alley he runs to catch up with him, suddenly finding himself stupidly afraid to let him out of his sight, as if he might turn the corner and find him dead again. 

Yeah, not a dream.


	4. Chapter 4

The diner is small and mostly empty. Like most of Wade's favourite establishments it is dingy and questionably hygienic but the food is pretty good and none of the staff or customers look twice at two men in red spandex, one a blood drenched walking arsenal, sitting across from one another at a sticky Formica table. 

Wade has his mask pushed up and is already halfway through the second of his three burgers. Ketchup drips from it and splashes onto the table in front of him. It reminds Peter of splattered blood in the alley and he can't take his eyes off it. His own burger sits untouched while he picks at his fries and tries not to look at Wade because if he does he'll have to remember what he felt when he saw him lying there surrounded by all that red. Dealing with an unexpected crush was one thing - this may be something else altogether.

"Y' gonna eat that?" 

Wade is already reaching across the table for his burger. Without really thinking Peter slaps his hand away.

"Jesus Wade! Give me a chance. I don't seem to have much appetite - God knows why. Think it's something to do with finding you with your head blown off?"

Ah. Looks like we are talking about this after all.

Wade freezes for a moment then swallows and wipes a hand across his mouth. 

"Didn't mean for you to see that." He says quietly. "No girl looks her best with her insides on the outside. Sorry Spidey, my bad."

"I'm not talking about how it looked you idiot!" 

Peter's voice is suddenly louder. A couple of the other people in the diner look around briefly. He drops back to his indoor voice and continues, leaning forward over the table. 

"I didn't give a crap about the gore Wade, I've seen worse - I'm friends with you aren't I? I was more concerned with the fact that someone I...my friend...was dead!" 

He stops because his heart is pounding and his chest is tight. Wade is looking at him with the whites of his masked eyes wide. 

"I wasn't really dead - remember the sign? Only mostly dead."

"What happened Wade?" Peter says, quieter still.

Wade says nothing, he seems to be confused. Then he shrugs, pursing scarred lips. 

"Nothin'. There were some Ninja robots. They got lucky. It happens."

"Ninja robots...really? That's the story you're going with?" 

Peter crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat. He fixes the merc with a stare. Wade returns it for all of three seconds before he looks away. 

"Told you before Webs, sometimes it gets noisy up here." 

He taps his temple with a greasy gloved hand, right where his scarred skin shows through the ragged hole in his mask. Peter thinks he sees him shudder. 

"Then I gotta take a time out." 

Peter says nothing, afraid that his voice will betray him.

Wade shrugs again, his broad shoulders are straight, tense underneath the show of nonchalance. 

"S'ok, I just find somewhere quiet, redecorate the walls Tarantino-style and get a short vacation from this endless parade of awesomeness." 

He spreads his arms to encompass apparently the entire world. 

"If I'm lucky I get to see a friend - if I'm unlucky I get to see some other friends. Either way I boot up again before the rot sets in and I'm on my merry way, hopefully without anything or anyone having pissed on me in the meantime."

"That sounds...awful." Peter says at last, because what the hell else can he say? I'm sorry? How do you live like that? Does it hurt? How can I help? He can't ask those questions because he's terrified that the answers will be exactly what he thinks they are. 

Things have been bad for him before...really bad. They still are sometimes. But he can't ever imagine wanting to kill himself. Repeatedly. 

"Well yeah. It's a fucking shit show Spidey but them's the breaks." 

Wade grins and gets up from the table, pulling his mask down. 

"Anyway I'mma blow this Popsicle stand. Thanks for waiting for me. Sorry 'bout all the...brain matter." 

He turns on his heel and is out the door before Peter has got up from his seat. The coldness clutching at his chest tells Peter not to let the merc out of his sight but, as he rushes to the door and out into the street, he already knows he's not going to be there. 

Sure enough the street is devoid of huge men in red Kevlar and Peter stands in the dark road, looking around him, until a blast of a car horn makes him move away. He doesn't want to leave Wade but he has no idea where to look for him - he doesn't know where he lives these days and he has a feeling he doesn't want to be found for now. With a deep sigh Peter slings a web to the nearest rooftop and swings away. 

From an alley-way fire escape, Wade watches him go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a bit late - it was like pulling teeth for some reason so thank you for your patience and apologies if it sucks!
> 
> Thanks to the lovely flutterby_cupcake_26 for being a great beta as always!

As Peter swings home through the darkened streets, Wade sits on the edge of a creaking metal fire escape high up an old apartment building, swinging his legs as he stares down into yet another alley. The metal under his legs is still warm from the residual heat of the day. The smell that rises up to meet him is sun-warmed garbage and piss. He doesn't even notice it anymore. One of his guns is in his lap and he runs his gloved fingers absently over the metal. He's not really focused on the trash or the scurrying creatures and the odd shady person hurrying past. 

{Ahhh...hey big guy, it's good to be back.} The voice in his head sighs contentedly. 

[Nice try asshole but we're baaack!...You manage to fuck up anymore while we were away?]

Wade says nothing. He stares ahead and tries to concentrate on the familiar but impossible task of ignoring the boxes as they crow at him.

[Wow you sure did! Letting him find you with your brains all over the wall! Well if he ever really did want anything to do with that horror show you keep in your pants you've can definitely kiss goodbye to that idea.]

{You're better off anyway big guy. Best case - he does think he wants you but he gets one look at what you've got goin' on under there and, if we're lucky and he's got a strong stomach, we maybe get one pity fuck and another bootprint on our heart. Worse case he screams bloody murder and you never seem him again - ditto on the bootprint.} 

"He waited for me." Wade's voice is quiet but defiant.

{Because he's good. Because he's a hero and he wouldn't just leave someone mostly dead on the street - even a freak show like you. Doesn't mean he likes us.}

Wade thinks back to kneeling on Peter's balcony, listening rapt to the sound of panting breaths through the window. The incredulity and amazement when he heard his own name. The arousal that burned through him at the idea of Peter jerking off to thoughts of him. Then the shame that overtook him so quickly after he came. The cacophony of laughter and jeering from inside his own head that went on and on, so long and so loud that a bullet was the only solution. 

Then he thinks about how it felt to wake up to that sweet face watching him, that face that kind of took his breath away the first time and every time he sees it. Those huge, stupidly warm brown eyes. It was probably just wishful thinking but did they seem kinda glassy? Like he really was sad?

Peter had waited. He had held his hand and waited for him to come back to life. That's got to mean something right?

The more he thinks about it now, with the heat of the moment passed, the more Wade is beginning to suspect, or at least hope, that the boxes are full of shit. So to speak.

The switch flips and he's back in control. He looks up and grins at nothing, "I'm putting an end to this pity party. I'm gonna find my baby boy and find out if he wants this fine Canadian bacon and you can all blow me." He gestures with the gun in the direction of his crotch then shoves it back in the holster.

The voices still jeer at him but this time he tunes them out. He has a mission - not a great one - but it's a mission. 

He stands up and drops from the edge of the fire escape onto a metal dumpster with a clang that resounds up and down the alleyway. He grins again at the sound and the accompanying squeaking of rats and shouts of "Shut the fuck up will ya!" That echo down from above. 

He's just walking out of the end of the alleyway when the Robot Ninjas appear. 

For a moment he doesn't react as they surround him, spinning swords and circling slowly, metallic faces gleaming in the street light. 

"Oh you have got to be shitting me! Robot fucking Ninjas? Yes! I fucking called this one." 

He un-sheaths the Katanas, spinning the blade as they close in. 

"Wait til I tell Spidey - he's not gonna believe this." 

He swings the sword at the nearest figure and then stops it in mid-air, cocking his head. 

"Hang on...you guys are definitely here right? Cos if you're just hallucinations we're gonna have to do this later - I've got places to be, spiders to see."

The Ninja swings his sword clean through Wade's arm. He looks down at the spurting blood and at his gloved hand lying on the ground, clutching reflexively at the hilt of his blade. Oh that's it. It's on. 

He looks up at the other robots and narrows his eyes. 

"Oh you're lucky it was the left one...although if it was the right maybe we could get Petey to give us an assist? Shut up! We haven't even got to the part where we declare our undying lust yet. Handjob assistance definitely comes further down the line...heh. Comes."

Unlike most of his opponents, the robots don't seem confused by his disjointed commentary. They're just closing in with expressionless intent. 

"Ok let's do this you shitty Doctor Who Villain looking motherfuckers." He raises the other blade and beckons with the stump of his hand.

"Come get some."

***

While Wade is taunting uncomprehending bad guys with his Bruce Campbell impressions several blocks away, Peter lands on his own balcony and sighs deeply as he pushes open the unlocked window. It has been a long, depressing and thoroughly bizarre evening. All he wants to do is crash out on his bed. He is trying to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him he should go out again and find Wade. 

Maybe he just needs to ask him straight out why the voices are so bad? He thinks he probably wouldn't tell him but he also thinks one of them should talk about it and if it's not going to be Wade then it's going to have to be him.

Fucking stubborn fucking mercenaries with their stupid senses of humour and distracting fucking bodies. He did not ask for this stupid crush. Months ago he would have shrugged off Wade's behaviour and swung away into the distance. Now he finds that the idea of Wade's sadness makes his heart hurt. He cried over the man's corpse for god's sake - despite knowing it was only temporary. It's probably time to admit that this isn't really just a crush anymore. 

He bites his lip, deep in thought as he pushes up his window. Something underfoot suddenly feels wrong and he looks down to see the whole area under the window soaked in blood.

It's mostly dried now but still shiny and sticky in places. It's tar-black in the darkness but the smell is unmistakable now he's paying attention to it. Peter makes a face and jumps back, grimacing at the feel of it on the bottoms of his feet. 

"What the...?" He looks around for the source of the blood. It definitely wasn't him; he's used to coming home dripping more blood than he'd like but nothing like this. He'd remember this. Whoever left this mess must have had a limb off.

There's only one man who's image jumps into his head at that thought. When he spots the black scuff marks of boots on the window ledge and the bloody handprint on the frame he's almost certain. 

He looks around wildly, expecting to see the merc lying somewhere nearby, but the balcony is empty. But of course the blood is nearly dry - it's at least a few hours old. When the hell did this happen? Wade came here hours ago, bleeding heavily, and tried to get in but for some reason he didn't call out or actually come into the apartment? Was Peter not home? Why would that have stopped him anyway? Peter had come home to a bleeding Deadpool - or just a few blood stains and a note of thanks - on his couch more than a few times. 

He thinks back to what he'd been doing hours ago; had he been in the apartment? He was sure he had. Then, with a screech of imaginary brakes and squeal of twisted metal, his confusion runs smack into the wall of memory and he stops, mouth open, eyes staring, hand on the window frame. A flush rises up his entire body and he screws his eyes shut. Oh yeah, that's what he was doing...

Chances were that everyone in his building heard what was in his head...oh fuck. 

Peter scrubs his hands over his mask, he thinks he can feel the prickling heat of his skin even through the fabric. He has an awful feeling that this explains everything. Wade overheard him, it freaked him out, the voices gave him shit because of it so he shot himself because they wouldn't shut up. Oh yeah, it definitely explains everything. It turns out it was all his fault.

He can't breathe. He is frozen between the desperate need to find Wade and apologise to him this minute and the urge to curl up in a ball and hide and never speak to the man again. 

He turns immediately and flings himself back out in to the darkness, before the second urge can win out. He heads automatically for the last place he saw the merc, because he has no idea where else to look.

What the hell is he going to say when he finds him anyway?

'Hi Wade, sorry you heard me jerking off over you'? 

'Sorry it grossed you out so much that you had to blow your own head off.'? 

Those don't exactly seem like great ice breakers.

'I think I might be a bit in love with you'? 

Yeah. Maybe not.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Late again! Enjoy!

Even though he swings through the night streets fast and twisting, he still barely feels a breeze. The air is solid and damp, he's sweating in his spandex suit as he glides from building to building, attention stretched between the roofs and the ground as he looks for a tell tale glimpse of red and wishes he had better night vision. 

He comes to rest on the metal fire escape of the building next door to the diner and crouches, looking around and down into the alleyway. He doesn't know what he expects to see, he's sure Wade is long gone by now but he has no idea where to look and he's afraid that if he doesn't find him now he may never see him again. 

He's about to jump again when he sees a glint of something metallic in the alley below and, without really knowing why that struck him as unusual, he has launched himself off the platform and down into the stinking gloom of the street. 

Something about the way trashcans and garbage are strewn across the alley suggests a struggle of some kind although in a place like this that means nothing. The splashes of blood on the walls add to the impression but again it's not uncommon in a New York back street. It's probably the red gloved, disembodied hand lying in a pool of blood and still gripping the hilt of one of Wade's Katana's that really gives the game away. 

"Shit."

Peter looks down at it with some combination of fear and disgust and looks around for any other sign of his friend. There are some other small patches of blood but nothing that looks immediately life threatening so wherever he is Wade probably walked out of here alive. But without his sword and without leaving any sign of his attackers so it feels safe to presume he was not the winner of this battle. 

Peter feels a surge of protective fury like he hasn't felt for anyone in a long time. How dare they take Wade! Wade is his. He kicks out at a dented trashcan and the resounding clang is deafening in the dead alley. He spins on the spot, panting, trying not think about what that thought meant. He looks around at the alley, feeling utterly helpless. 

He walks to the end of the alley and looks out into the street. A couple of cars pass, there is a single convenience store with lights still on and everywhere else is dark and deserted. He's about to swing up and see if anything is clearer with an aerial view when he spots something in the street, something red. He walks out into the mostly traffic-free road and bends to look at it. It's a finger. It's a red-gloved finger with ragged edges of flesh and fabric, it looks like it's been sawn off with a Bowie knife. He bends down and picks it up gingerly, feeling only slightly queasy, concern for Wade is over riding his strong natural desire to shudder and throw it very, very far away. He looks both ways down the street and then sees a couple of splashes of blood leading off to the south. A trail.

He heads back into the alley and picks up Wade's hand and Katana. He's about to stash them somewhere but thinks better of it. It's going to be a pain in the ass to carry but wherever he is, Wade is probably going to need the sword. He's just going to have to pray that no one notices Spiderman carrying a massive sword. Ha. 

He looks around vaguely for somewhere to put the hand although he doesn't think Wade will need it back. After a moment he sighs and picks up a mostly, hopefully, clean empty garbage bag and drops Wade's finger and hand in with a grimace. It doesn't seem right to just leave them lying on the road. He adds the sword and wraps it as best he can and with a convenient piece of greasy rope ties it as best he can to his back.

Back out in the road Peter begins to follow the trail of blood splatter in what he hopes is the direction Wade has been taken. As he gets to the junction and stands, wondering which way to turn again, he spots another finger on the floor, more spots of blood and he suddenly can't control a terrible urge to laugh. He carries on walking, laughing to himself, trying not to think what literally anyone would think of if they saw Spiderman walking down the middle of the street in the middle of the night with a sword, giggling to himself and peeling amputated digits off the Tarmac. The thought almost makes him lose it completely and he bites his tongue hard. This is all your fault - he thinks at the image of Deadpool in his memory. I'm sure I never used to be the sort of person who laughed at amputated fingers. 

He imagines Wade - in the back of a van? - or something similar, sawing off his fingers and dropping them out of a window or shoving them through a hole in the floor. Yep, that thought should definitely not make him smile but it does, because it's Wade and he can almost see the glee on his face as he lays his horrid breadcrumb trail for Peter.

He walks for about half an hour through, thankfully mostly quiet streets, only once having to dodge traffic to collect the macabre way marker. Now he is in some forgotten warehouse district. It's almost pitch black, very few street lights here and the shadows are deep where the crumbling brick buildings crowd close together. Peter stares around looking for the next finger or blood splatter and instead sees a battered looking black van parked haphazardly in the rock-garden of weeds, broken glass and cracked concrete that makes up the parking area of the nearest abandoned unit. He grins again.

He climbs silently up the side of the building to an empty window frame on the second floor. There's nothing left of the glass except some small jagged edges which he twists carefully to avoid as he squeezes through. Flakes of white paint from the rotten wood stick to his suit. 

On the other side of the window is a mostly empty room. There's a wooden floor, missing a few boards here and there - adding an exciting element of challenge to such a simple activity as crossing the room. There are some old green filing cabinets standing by one wall, drawers open and long since ransacked for anything of potential value. At the far end there is a door with FOREMAN etched into a frosted glass panel, and a large window, also intact, which looks out over what was once the factory floor. 

Peter crouches slightly, prepared to bet good money that Wade and his mystery captors are down on that floor and standing in the window for all to see is probably not the greatest idea right now. He moves to the edge of the window and tries to look out without being visible to anyone below. 

He was right. Below is a huge, mostly empty room with the ghosts of more prosperous times strewn around. Papers, boxes, the odd desk and unidentifiable machine parts, all covered with a huge quantity of dust and pigeon shit. Collapsed ceiling tiles lie in small styrofoam drifts under gaping holes in the ceiling. Wade is sitting on an old but solid looking metal chair facing Peter's hiding place, with thick ropes wrapped around his chest. His mask is off, it and his weapons are lying on the floor but the scarred skin of his face is almost obscured by the blood that runs from his nose and mouth. His eyes are swollen closed and, as Peter watches; his insides turning cold, Wade grins widely through a mouthful of crimson blood, and spits a tooth onto the floor in front of him, pinging it with unerring accuracy off the foot of the man who stands over him. 

Well - in front of him would be more accurate to be honest. Even with Wade tied to a chair this guy doesn't exactly loom. He's shorter than Peter, rangy and nervous, bouncing on the heels of his worn dress shoes. He looks like he's about to shit the pants of his old grey suit with fear, but he's trying very hard to hide it. 

There are several figures surrounding them, off in the shadows, except for one who stands beside the nervous man and the pile of Wade's weapons. They're dressed in black and carrying swords. Ninjas? When the closest one moves it's head he gets a sudden glimpse of metal under the cowl. Robot Ninjas?! He almost laughs; guess he owes Wade an apology.

The smile drops from his face when, at a flick of fingers from crummy suit guy, the Ninja at his side steps forwards and smashes a metal fist into the mercenary's jaw. The crunching sound echoes even through the glass and it takes every ounce of Peter's strength not to call out to Wade.

Instead he bites his lip until he tastes blood and silently climbs back out of the broken window.

Peter climbs further up the outside wall to the next set of sightless rotten window frames and scrambles in over glass daggers again. This time he feels one catch on his suit, feels the fabric tear, the glass nick at his skin. He winces as he drops down on the other side. He stops, breath thready, hands shaking. Focus. Suck it up. If he lets his anger take over he's going to screw up. He takes another breath and lets it out slowly. He thinks of Wade and all stuff he wants to tell him - not gonna have a chance if you get yourself killed - he tells himself. 

He moves forward slowly, hyper-vigilant for creaking, or missing, floorboards. He finds what he’s looking for pretty fast, a large section of floor with missing boards, open straight down through one of the many holes in the ceiling of the big room below. He smiles thinly and watches the room below. 

"My employer," Crummy suit guy is saying in a thin, nasal voice, "is very, very not happy." 

He moves closer to Wade, false bravado radiating from every pore. 

"Really? Well I can't say I'm shocked. I'd be pretty pissed if I'd employed a shiny-faced cockwomble like you." Wade nods sagely, his voice muffled by the current state of his mouth and jaw. He spits another mouthful of blood onto the mans shoes. 

Peter sees the man flex his hands briefly at his sides but he doesn't gesture to the ninja, opting instead to ignore Wade.

"You were given a job to do. That job has not been done."

Wade nods again. "You're not wrong Walter, you're just an asshole." He says.

He moves his jaw carefully and with a sickening crunch some bones re-align and begin to repair themselves. He runs his tongue along his teeth, a look of concentration on his face. Then he grins at the man, the bloody gaps are already starting to fill with new white teeth. 

"S'better." He says, shifting his shoulders. 

"Tell your 'employer' that I don't appreciate being lied to, I don't kill kids and I'm keeping the money as compensation for time wasted and emotional hardship. And because I don't want to give it back."

The man moves his hand again and the ninja steps forward. There is a sudden almighty crunch and Wade yells as he wrenches his shoulder out of its socket and pulls his arm free. There's a gun in his hand before either Peter or the man can register what's happened. A gunshot resounds through the room and the ninja falls with a loud metallic thunk, a smoking, sparking hole between his eyes.

There is a long suspended second of stunned stillness and then everyone moves at once.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh!

Peter drops through the hole in the ceiling, landing heavily on the back of the short man and knocking him out with elbow to the head while webbing one of the ninjas to the wall. Strong metal limbs twist and pull at the sticky strands as it tries to peels itself off the brickwork, it's not going to be held up for long.

"Baby Boy!" 

Peter turns towards the voice, smiling behind his mask. Wade stands, grinning widely and surrounded by the remnants of the chair and ropes. He raises the gun he pulled from who knows where and aims at Peter whose eyes widen for a second, feet frozen to the spot as he feels the bullet whistle past his cheek. There is an electric crackle behind him and another ninja, sword upraised above Peter's head, drops to the floor in a sparking heap.

Peter gapes at Wade for a second, open mouthed. His heart is pounding and sweat prickles his skin. Fuck. That was completely terrifying and not in any way hot. Nope. Not at all. 

He quickly pulls the Katana out of the wrapping on his back and holds it out. "You dropped this."

Wade grabs it with a delighted whoop. 

"Aw Spidey I knew I could count on you! Have you seen this shit! Fucking Robot Ninjas! Ninja? Robots! Told you webs!" 

He kisses the flat steel of the blade loudly, "I missed you Bea. Don't ever leave me again."

Both of his hands are intact again, although his gloves are now fingerless. He swings the blade and, with a careless shrug, pops his shoulder back into place with a wet crunch. Peter shudders at the sound and takes a deep breath as they both turn, back to back as the last of the robots close in.

***

Ten minutes later it's all over. The robots are strewn over the floor and webbed to the walls, curls of smoke still drifting from the various holes in their heads, limbs twitching in electronic spasms. 

Peter and Wade stand in the middle of the chaos and grin at each other, breathing hard, eyes shining. Peter pulls his mask up to catch his breath. He can't tear his gaze away from Wade, the way he looks in that suit; the size of his shoulders, arms, the curve of his ass, the glimpses of scarred skin through ripped fabric, the line of his jaw and the texture of the scars that criss-cross his face and body. He wants to find out what they feel like under his hands, what they taste like. He wants to reach out and run his hands over Wade's chest, bite his lips, kiss his neck.

He realises he is staring, transfixed by fantasy and Wade is looking confused. Don't get into this again! This is where it all went wrong. Just get a grip. Suck it up Parker. 

He licks his suddenly dry lips and clears his throat, trying not to follow the parade of images that flashed across his mind at the word 'suck'. 

"My hero Spidey." Wade says and Peter looks up sharply, expecting a hint of mockery of sarcasm but he sees none.

"Knew you'd find me." Wade continues with a proud smile that makes Peter blush for some stupid reason. 

"Well you did leave a pretty unique trail Hansel." He mutters.

Wade shakes his head, "Hmm I'm more of a Gretel don'tcha think? I could totally rock a Dirndl." He says, pointing a foot thoughtfully and accidentally/on-purpose booting the semi-conscious crummy-suit-guy in the face again. "I've got the legs for it."

Peter sighs, "I have literally no idea what that is but I'm gonna say okaaay. Also you should probably stop kicking that guy when he's down." 

Wade looks sceptical but stops.

"What now?" He asks.

"Call the cops." Peter advises, taking out his phone.

As Peter makes his short phone call, Wade walks up behind him to pull down the edge of the bag that is still tied to his back and look inside.

"What you got in here? Anything edible? I am fucking staaarving!" 

Peter thinks of Wade's hand and all the fingers he'd carefully collected. Looking at the man now with all his extremities re-grown he suddenly feels like an idiot for bringing them all the way here. 

Wade laughs and pulls out a handful of fingers, "Yay cocktail wieners!" 

"Ew Jesus! Not weiners Wade!" Peter says, making a grab for them. 

Wade holds his hand out of Peters reach and peers into the bag again. 

"Wow Petey you really picked up all my spare parts?"

Peter doesn't know what to say except. "Shut up, I didn't wanna just leave them on the road...animals might have...I guess you don't really need them now though..."

Wade grins like an idiot and throws his arms around Peter and Peter just about stops breathing. His face is pressed against Wade's chest, Wade's biceps are squashing his shoulders and he's so warm. 

"You are just the cutest spider ever!" Wade says gleefully, kissing his cheek with a smacking noise. 

Peter returns the hug, forcing himself to restart his breathing, trying not to grin too widely. He pats Wade's back carefully. He must be able to hear Peter's heart thumping right? It feels like it's going to jump out of his chest. 

"Um...thank you?"

Wade pulls back a bit and looks down at him, big hands resting on his arms. He is still smiling but his gaze is so intense and searching that Peter suddenly wants to look away. His eyes flick down for a second and Wade's expression freezes and he steps back. 

"Better shoot before the cops get here. I don't do explanations or clean-up duty."

He turns away and begins collecting up his various weapons and reattaching them to his body while he talks to himself in a low angry hiss that Peter cant quite hear.

Peter stands still and blinks in confusion. What just happened? 

He reaches out and grabs Wade's forearm, pulling him to face him. 

"What?" 

Wade shakes his head, pulls at his arm. 

"It's ok Spidey I should have known it was just a fantasy thing. Imaginary Deadpool in this sexy-ass suit is one thing, but au natural?" He points at his face. "This ain't ever gonna feature in anyone's spank-bank."

They stand and stare at each other for a moment. Wade defiant and resolutely not hurt, Peter mortified but not a little confused. He has no idea what to say. He could feign ignorance but he thinks they're a little bit past that. 

Wade thinks he looked away because his face disgusts him? The truth was that Peter had hardly noticed. He had seen parts of Wade's face enough times to have got used to it, to grow to like it - seeing the rest of it is just filling in the gaps. Wade just looks exactly like Wade to him. He's never known him any other way. 

So, if he's hurt because he thinks Peter rejected him then that means...he likes Peter too? Could he have missed something earlier? Was Wade's problem not that he freaked out because he caught Peter jacking off to him, but that he thought Peter would reject him? 

Only one way to find out.

"You wanna bet on that?" He asks and tightens his grip on Wade's arm. The merc might be basically 100 percent muscle but Peter's powers mean he's still the stronger of the two. Wade looks confused but Peter thinks 'fuck it' - now or never. If Wade has feeling for him he's not letting him leave here thinking Peter doesn't return them. He grabs Wade's head in both hands and leans up to kiss him, hard and wet and determined. This is a kiss with a point to make. He runs his fingers over Wade's scalp, moving softly and slowly over the bumps and ridges and grooves, taking his time. He needs Wade to know he wants that part of him too, not some sanitised fantasy. 

Wade's eyes widen, he inhales sharply and his hands hover above Peter's shoulders. His lips part in surprise and Peter takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth, drawing an odd squeak of shock from Wade. Then, just as Peter is beginning to worry that he may have fucked up ever so slightly, Wade's huge hands come up to cup his jaw, very, very tentatively, as though he's still convinced he's somehow misunderstanding the situation he finally returns the kiss and it's breath-taking; deep and warm and passionate. Sending a shiver shooting down Peter's spine. The sensation of Wade's touch is somehow both exactly what he had fantasised about and completely unexpected. He lets out an embarrassingly needy sound and grinds against Wade's hip, wanting him to feel his arousal. Heat sweeps over his skin as Wade breathes his name in a disbelieving voice and presses closer, breaking the kiss to moving his lips down to mouth at Peter's neck, shoving his leg against him, letting him rut into hard muscle and leather. 

"Oh Baby Boy I never knew you had it in you." He giggles, grabbing Peter's ass in both hands, "Or that you wanted it in you..." 

Peter moans. He would love to disagree, feels he should probably defend his own honour; but he really can't find it in him to lie. So instead he just whispers against the hot skin of Wade's neck that tastes like salt and smells like blood and leather and gun oil.

"Fuck Wade, I am such an idiot. Wanted you for months, took me ages to figure out what the fuck was going on because I am, as I mentioned, an idiot. Every time I watch you fight I feel like this, can't stop staring at you. Can't look away. Your body, your voice, your face, everything. Every moment around you it's been getting harder and harder not to do this."

Wade is silent for a moment, lips still against his skin and Peter is mentally bracing himself for an inevitable pun about things getting harder but instead the merc just groans against his neck. 

"Holy shit baby boy. We could've been doing this months ago? Fuck!"

Wade kisses him hard and then pulls back to look down with a smirk.

"Not doing this isn't the only thing getting harder and harder." 

He pulls Peter towards him, grinding what feels like a seriously impressive hard-on against his hip. Peter rolls his eyes and tries to look like he's not thinking about dropping to his knees amongst all these dead robots and seeing how much of it he can fit in his mouth.

"Idiot." He says and kisses him again, groaning as Wade's tongue slides against his.

"Ahem." 

There is a cough from behind them and, startled, they spring apart to find a couple of police officers watching them with the kind of look that suggests there may have been more than one attempt to attract their attention. Peter pulls his mask down quickly while Wade grins at the cops unselfconsciously. He hauls the mostly unconscious shabby suit guy to an upright position.

"This is....oh who the fuck knows. He works for some bad people and he pays people to kill witnesses. Don't ask how I know this. He has a concussion and a broken nose - also don't ask." He shoves the man into the first policeman's arms where he sags like a sack of potatoes, then he puts an arm around Peter's waist, pulling him close.

"Me and Spidey have to go and have a lot of sex now. Good luck with all this." He waves his hand vaguely at the mess, "Catch ya later." 

Peter rolls his eyes and feels his face light up like a beacon (thank god for the mask) but he's also grinning like an idiot.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the smut!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented and left kudos! I have really enjoyed writing this. 
> 
> This has been the first thing I have ever posted as I write rather than finishing it before posting so thank you for bearing with me through my changes in tone and lack of plot and direction! It's been an interesting process! 
> 
> Lots of love to you all and thank you to flutterby_cupcake_26 For inspiration when I got stuck, despite not really being in this fandom! <3

He can see the smirk even through the red fabric that covers his face. To be honest he's pretty sure he can almost hear it. The merc is almost nose to nose with him, leaning over him where he lies on his bed. Peter's heart is pounding in his bare chest and there is no hiding how much he loves the sight of those huge arms either side of his head and the broad, Kevlar-covered torso almost pressed against him. All this and the twist of a smile behind the mask is making it hard to breathe.

Peter sighs in a way that he knows sounds breathless but he doesn't give a shit, because this time it's not a dream.

Instead he reaches up to wrap his arms around Wade's neck and smiles as Wade pulls off his mask slowly. He reaches up and runs his fingers over his face, mapping the scarred and unscarred skin. Dragging his thumb over rough lips, the other ghosting over a high cheekbone. 

"You are beautiful."

Wade laughs, brittle and too loud, "No more drugs for Petey."

Without warning Peter flips them so he sits astride Wade, looking down at his rapt expression. He is determined to show him exactly how much he loves the way he looks.

He leans forward slowly and begins to undo buckles and fasteners, hoping that somewhere under all the Kevlar and leather there is skin. He pushes Wade's suit up, tracing the webbed lines of scars, dips and bumps of muscles. Wade watches him warily. 

"Don'tcha wanna leave it on?" He says, "I know you've got a thing for the suit."

Peter looks up at him and shoves the fabric up further, pulls it over Wade's head and throws it to one side.

"No." 

Wade lies below him, naked from the waist up, miles of scarred, hard muscle. Peter licks his lips and bends to trail kisses across Wade's stomach, smiling when his muscles jump under his touch.

"I've got a thing for you."

Wade breathes in sharply as Peter runs his tongue from the waistband of Wade's pants, up over his abs, his chest, flicking over a nipple, humming to himself in satisfaction as Wade bucks under him, hissing through his teeth and grinding against him. 

"I don't know what the fuck I did to deserve you but it must have been in a previous life."

Peter grins and carefully drags down the bottom half of Wade's suit. Wade groans long and low when his cock springs free of his pants. Peter blinks, holy shit there is no way he's gonna fit that in his mouth. 

Wade whines as Peter darts out his tongue to lick up his length. The texture of Wade's skin is the same here, uneven and marked but soft, he tastes salty sweet and bitter at the same time. Peter licks again, flicking his tongue over the head and smiling as Wade's cock twitches against his lips, precome dripping onto his stomach. 

"Fuuuuuuck."

Peter gives one more flick of his tongue and then sinks down, taking as much of Wade's cock into his mouth as he can. He slides his fist over the rest of the hot hard flesh as he bobs his head.

Wade is squirming under Peter, torn between awkwardness and lust. It's been a while since he found anyone who was even willing to do this to him, let alone eager. Part of him still wants to run, can't totally drown out the boxes even now, but Peter's mouth feels amazing, tight and wet and so warm. As blow jobs go its sloppy and urgent and occasionally there's teeth but it's still incredibly hot and when he looks down to see Peter's messy dark hair, his smooth tan skin, wet lips stretched around his flushed cock he nearly loses it right there. 

He can feel heat coiling in his groin, he has to force himself not to thrust up, but not moving is agony. Peter opens his mouth wider, sinking down until Wade feels his cock hit the back of his throat and then, Peter's throat opens around him and he's swallowing him, impossibly deep. His throat is tight around him. Wade claws at the sheets, at Peter's hair and he knows he's not going to last much longer. 

"Petey...oh goddam fucking shit Spidey...gonna..."

Peter groans and tries to nod, running his hands down Wade's sides, fingers digging into the muscles of his ass. 

Wade comes hard with a incoherent yell.

Peter moans, struggling to swallow as Wade comes down his throat. He mostly succeeds, pulling off with an obscenely wet pop and grinning up at his lover. Wade grabs him and hauls him up, kissing him hard, groaning the taste of himself on Peter's lips.

"Sweet zombie Jesus." He gasps.

Peter cracks up, shoulders shaking with laughter, as he drops his head against Wade's neck, listening to his thudding heartbeat. His head is spinning, his jaw aches and he feels slightly hysterical. Wade looks down at him and kisses the top of his head with a loud smack and runs his hands down Peter's back to squeeze his ass. 

"Oh yeah, that's the shit." He says.

"Glad you approve."

"How could I not? This ass is a work of art and I'll have you know I am a connoisseur."

Peter laughs and Wade flips them over, wrapping Peter's legs around his hips before he dives down to claim his mouth again. 

He grabs the waist of Peter's suit and drags it down, finally freeing his painfully hard cock from the suit's protective cup. Peter hisses as Wade's hot breath ghosts against his sensitive skin, he reaches down to run his hands over Wade's head, sliding his fingers over his neck and jaw, crying out as he feels his cock slip between scarred lips and is suddenly overwhelmed by sensation as Wade swallows him down in one long glide, throat tightening as he slowly bobs his head. 

"Fuck! Wade!" Peter yelps, hips twitching, hands on the back of Wade's head, trying not to push up too much. Wade licks up the length of him, swirls his tongue over the head, bobs down again, pulling him deep into his throat and Peter is pretty sure this is going to be what kills him. If not today then soon because he wants to do this as many times possible, for as long as Wade will have him.

He bucks again, his head dropping back, mouth open, moaning at the ceiling. There are sparks floating behind his eyes, he can't think about anything but Wade, his mouth, his hands, his tongue. The way he trails his fingers over Peter's balls, tracing lightly over his hole, pressing gently. Oh fuck yes.

Wade pauses for a moment and Peter thinks maybe he said that out loud. Well screw it. It's not like he didn't mean it. He groans and grinds himself down, encouraging Wade's finger to press in.

Wade pulls off and looks up along the length of his body. He raises an invisible eyebrow. "You sure baby boy?" He asks, voice already rough and somehow even deeper. 

Peter nods emphatically. 

Wade grins, "Oh I am gonna rock your fucking world baby."

"Shut up and fuck me Wade." 

***

Later, when they've both got their breath back, Peter and Wade lie tangled in sheets and each other. Shiny with sweat and sticky with various substances they are quiet apart from the odd comfortable sigh or slight disbelieving huff of laughter from Peter. 

"So..."

Wade says and he sounds odd. Resigned. Like he's preparing himself for something.

"That was awesome Spidey but if...you know...if you've got some place to be..." He clears his throat, tries to sound light but there's a tiny crack in his voice, "I won't be offended."

"So yeah, about that..." Peter begins and he feels Wade tense beside him, already about to get up and go.

"I think I'm kind of...definitely in love with you."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Please do let me know what you think and as always if you liked it I would love it if you left kudos :-) x


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